by Martin Scott
Another unexpected development. I frown. I’m sure Thalius wasn’t married, yet she’s wearing a toga suitable for the woman of the house. Must be his daughter.
She looks up from the floor and demands to know what I’m doing here.
“Investigating the death of Thalius,” I lie.
“You’re not a Guard.” She climbs unsteadily to her feet. “Just as well. Guards won’t get anywhere finding out who killed my father. Guards are as much use as a eunuch in a brothel.”
I’m surprised to hear this expression spoken in her cultured voice. She reaches for another bottle of klee on the shelf behind her. She’s already had more than enough but I figure it’s none of my business so I don’t try and stop her. I think I can hear noises outside suggesting more Guards have arrived.
“The Guards will be here any moment. I’m an Investigator. I’ll help you if you tell me about it.”
It comes out sounding sincere. It might even be sincere. I’m feeling kind of sorry for her, drunk and alone with her father freshly buried.
“What’s to tell?”
“Who killed your father?”
“His dwa dealer, I suppose.”
This takes me completely by surprise. Not the fact that Thalius Green Eye took dwa—that’s common enough among all classes of people and Sorcerers seem particularly prone to it. But there was no mention of any drug connection in the reports of the killing.
“I thought he was poisoned by a servant.”
She laughs, stupidly, drunkenly. “So they say. Didn’t want another drug scandal to rock the Palace. Too many already. My father wasn’t poisoned. He was killed by a crossbow bolt. Couldn’t pay the dwa dealer.”
There are footsteps outside as the Civil Guards enter the house.
“Hire me to find the killer,” I say, urgently, but it’s too late. At the same moment as she falls unconscious to the floor the Guards enter the room led by Prefect Galwinius himself, their chief in Thamlin.
Prefect Galwinius knows me well. He dislikes me just as much as Prefect Tholius does. More, possibly. He takes one look at her outstretched body before ordering my immediate arrest and I am loaded into a wagon and carted off to jail.
It’s not unusual for me to be carted off to jail in the course of an investigation but when I reflect that I have been carted off this time because of something I wasn’t even investigating, I wonder if even at my stage of life it might not be too late to curb my natural inquisitiveness.
Chapter Five
The worst thing about being in jail is the heat. And the smell. And you can’t get a beer. The company’s always bad as well. There’s plenty wrong with being in jail.
I’m sitting in a small cell with a fellow prisoner who won’t say a word and lies on his bunk looking miserable as a Niojan whore. It’s actually a relief when the prayer call rings out. Gives me something to do.
My requests to the Guards for the legal representation to which I am entitled are routinely ignored. I don’t actually have my own lawyer (though in my line of business I should), but as a citizen of Turai the state is meant to provide me with a Public Defender. They don’t. It’s well into the evening before anyone official pays me any attention at all. Two Guards thrust the door open and take me along a corridor into an interview room where Deputy Prefect Prasius is sitting stony faced behind a desk.
I’m moderately pleased to see Prasius. He doesn’t like me any better than the Prefect, but he’s not quite as stupid. He’s younger than his boss Galwinius, and well spoken, as you would expect. You don’t get promoted or elected into official posts in Turai unless you’re well born and your name ends in the aristocratic ‘-ius’. A name like Thraxas marks you out as low born. There is no legal reason why a man from the lower classes can’t be elected to high office, but the aristocrats have the Senate pretty much sewn up with money and patronage and it’s extremely rare for a new man to break through.
“So, Thraxas. You want to tell us what you were doing in Thalius’s house?”
“You want to tell me where my Public Defender is?”
Prasius looks round at his Guards. “He wants to know where his Public Defender is. Anyone seen his Public Defender?”
The Guards shake their heads, which makes the fancy tassels on the shoulders of their tunics sway back and forward.
“Looks like no one’s seen him.”
“I’ve a right to representation.”
“You’ve a right to shut up about lawyers and start answering questions. Now, what were you doing in Thalius’s house? And why did you attack his daughter Soolanis?”
I lean forward and stare at him.
“Prasius. Is it a qualification for every official in this city that they have to be as dumb as an Orc? Do you really think you can intimidate me? Go to hell. Bring me my representative, and I might talk. Or I might not. Depends how I feel. Meanwhile, you better just take me back to the cell. If you want to keep holding me illegally, then do it. I’ll expect a fat payment when I haul you through the law courts.”
This is not the way to talk to the Deputy Prefect if you want to get out of jail, but I’m damned if I’ll ever knuckle under to these people. I’m taken back to my cell. My fellow prisoner is still lying on his bunk and he doesn’t look any happier.
Later on I pay a Guard to give me today’s copy of The Renowned and Truthful Chronicle of All the World’s Events. There’s nothing much in it unless you happen to be interested in the current leading scandal about the Senator’s wife and the Army Captain, which I’m not. And the editor spends some time lambasting the Civil Guard for its inefficiency in not being able to find a two-ton statue. The statue of Saint Quatinius was meant to be dedicated at an important religious ceremony next month, attended by delegates from various other city-states. The paper fulminates over the fact that anyone could fail to find such an enormous object, and hints strongly that bribery and corruption must be involved. Fair enough, although I haven’t had any more success than the Guards, and no one’s bribing me.
Twelve Seas gets a mention on the back page, with a small news item on the burning down of one of our local taverns, the Boar’s Head, and the death in the fire of the landlord, Trinex.
Lousy tavern, the Boar’s Head, full of dwa dealers and exotic dancers. I won’t miss it at all. I never liked Trinex either. The tavern was run by the Brotherhood and Trinex was a member of their organisation, which makes the affair interesting. The Brotherhood doesn’t like it when one of their money-making establishments gets burned down. Very bad for business.
I’m used to being in a cell—it’s happened to me enough times—so it doesn’t particularly bother me, but it’s frustrating to know that I’ve got nowhere with Grosex and time is running short. After doing the standard magical tests the Guard Sorcerer detected Grosex’s aura on the knife. Only his aura, no one else’s. And that’s enough to convince the Guards and probably a jury that the apprentice killed the sculptor. The city law courts can push through a capital case in five days if they have the inclination. Unless I find out who really killed Drantaax then Grosex could be hanged in less than a week. And when I’m freed I’ll be no further on really. I can’t recognise the white villa the kuriya pool showed me. Even if I could there’s no guarantee that Drantaax’s wife would be there. I seem to be drawing a blank on this one.
I mull over what happened at the house of the Sorcerer Thalius. Even though I have no involvement in the case it’s a curious chain of events. Why was it said that he was poisoned by a servant, when his daughter says he was murdered by a dwa dealer? And was he really killed by a crossbow bolt? That’s a very unusual weapon in Turai. It’s illegal to carry one inside the city walls. Although I recently encountered a very deadly crossbow killer named Sarin the Merciless who had some involvement in the dwa trade. I wonder if she might be back in Turai? I’d be interested to meet her again. She’s a wanted woman and I’m always keen to collect a little reward money.
Most interesting of all, in view of my recent e
xperiences, is the appearance of the monks. What were they doing there? Connected with the dwa trade? That wouldn’t be a surprise. Practically everyone else in the city brushes up against dwa since it took over so many people’s lives. But it could be something else entirely. Maybe Thalius had some religious artefact they wanted? But Thalius was strictly a small-time Sorcerer, unlikely to be in possession of anything very important. Maybe they just came to get their horoscopes read.
I wonder who the two groups were and why they were fighting. It’s an odd coincidence that one day I find two strange monks burgling my rooms and the next thing you know there are monks slugging it out on the lawns in Thamlin. I speculate on what I might have blundered into, but I can’t think of anything to fit the facts. I don’t know much about warrior monks. There again, who does?
I spend the night in the cells. The next day it’s hot as Orcish hell. The food is not what I’d call fit for humans and I’m desperate for a beer. I’m about to vent my frustration by kicking the door when it opens and Thalius’s daughter walks in. She’s steadier on her feet but I can tell she’s been drinking. I’m not a man who’d condemn her for it. If you can’t have a drink when your father gets murdered, when can you?
“Thraxas. They tell me you really are an Investigator. I thought you were another crook.”
She’d woken up from her prolonged drinking bout to find her house being searched by monks in red robes. Naturally this was disconcerting. She apologises for trying to stab me and I wave it away.
“Finding monks burgling your house is enough to unsettle anyone. Believe me, I know.”
She gets to the point quickly. The Guards are getting nowhere with the death of her father and she wants to hire me.
I glance round at my cellmate. He seems to be sleeping but I don’t want to discuss anything in front of him. It’s not beyond the intelligence of Deputy Prefect Prasius to have put one of his own men in here to spy on me.
“I’ll take the job, but we can’t discuss it here. You’ll have to get me out of this cell first.”
She takes a small flask from her bag and sips from it. She’s a pretty young woman, with a mass of dark hair and striking green eyes. Pretty enough to compliment were I not too old, overweight and generally washed up to be handing out compliments to young women.
“Can I get you out?”
“Sure. Just tell the Deputy Prefect I was in your house by your invitation. They don’t have anything else to hold me on.”
This goes smoothly enough. Deputy Prefect Prasius makes me wait while he consults with Galwinius. They don’t like it at all, but if Soolanis says she invited me in there’s nothing they can do about it. I wasn’t committing any other crime. Eventually a Guards Sorcerer accompanies us to the front entrance where he utters the necessary spell to open the door. I walk out into the scorching sunlight.
“I need a beer.”
So does Soolanis. We stop off in a tavern on the edge of Thamlin, a higher-class establishment than I would normally frequent. The landlord looks at me suspiciously but seems reassured by the presence of the obviously well-bred Soolanis until she starts knocking back glasses of klee in a manner quite unbecoming to a lady. Eventually I have to bundle her back into a landus and we head south.
Turning into Quintessence Street we pass the still smouldering ruins of the Boar’s Head. Not a timber is left standing. Whoever set it alight did a good job, not that it’s too hard to start a fire among rickety wooden buildings of Twelve Seas dried out by the fierce summer sun. Fire is a continual danger in the city. It’s probably only because the space beside the tavern had already been cleared prior to reconstruction that there wasn’t a far larger conflagration. Casax, the local Brotherhood boss, and Ixkar, a senior official in the Innkeepers Guild, are standing next to the ruins, grim-faced. They don’t look like they’re discussing plans for a summer outing. I wouldn’t like to be the arsonist when they get hold of him.
Soolanis is half asleep as we ride to the Avenging Axe. She only makes it up the outside stairs with some difficulty. Once inside she slumps on to my couch and falls fast asleep. I stare at her with some frustration. She might at least have stayed awake long enough to pay me my retainer.
I have a large jug of water in my bedroom. I walk through to throw some on my face. The jug is empty and there’s a young whore asleep in my bed. I know she’s a whore because of the red ribbons in her hair. I’ve never seen her before.
I go looking for Makri. Makri comes looking for me and we meet at my door. She glances at Soolanis, sprawled out on my couch.
“You finally found a girlfriend who drinks as much as you.”
“Very amusing. Who the hell is that in my bed?”
“In your bed? Right. That’ll be Quen, I expect. She’s a whore.”
“I know she’s a whore. I saw the ribbons. Is this some kind of joke?”
Makri shifts a little uncomfortably. “I wasn’t expecting you back just yet. I thought you might be longer in prison…”
I explode. “Damn help you are, Makri. Other people might do something like finding me a lawyer to get me out of jail. Not you. You fill my room with whores and hope I won’t be back for a while. Get her out of there!”
“I can’t,” wails Makri, and starts to look distressed. “Everyone’s after her.”
“Who’s everyone?”
“The Guards. And the Brotherhood. And the Innkeepers Guild.”
A horrible suspicion starts to form in my mind. “You don’t mean she…”
Makri nods. “She burned down the Boar’s Head. But she didn’t mean to kill the landlord. She was just teaching him a lesson.”
“Well she certainly taught him a good one. Okay, now I know who she is. I still don’t know what she’s doing here.”
“She just turned up. In a panic. She was looking for me. We met before, at a meeting.”
I gaze at Makri with horror. “You knew her before? And she came into the downstairs bar? She just walked in after burning down the Boar’s Head only a hundred yards away? And you led her up here? Why didn’t you just put up a big sign saying Wanted arsonist hiding in Thraxas’s room? Get her out of here this second!”
“But she’s safe here.”
“She is far from safe. The Brotherhood has eyes everywhere. God knows how many people will have seen her come in here. And even if no one did, the Brotherhood will use a Sorcerer. Ten to one Casax has one of them working on it now.”
Makri was unaware that the Boar’s Head was owned by the Brotherhood. She realises that it makes it more serious. Not that it would be any light matter if it was just Civil Guards and the Innkeepers Guild in pursuit. Like most guilds, the innkeepers have some powerful connections.
“What can we do to help her?”
“You can do what you like, Makri. I’m doing nothing. Just get her out of here. And quickly.”
“But the landlord assaulted her!”
“I sympathise. It must be a hard life as an exotic dancer. Now, are you going to get rid of her or do I have to throw her out myself?”
Gurd rattles the door and sticks his head in. “Thraxas. The Guards are downstairs looking for you. You want me to stall them?”
I nod. He departs.
There’s a fierce banging at my outside door.
“Thraxas,” comes a voice I wish I didn’t recognise. “It’s Casax. I need to talk to you.”
Well, that’s fine. The Guards are downstairs and the local Brotherhood boss is outside. I glare at Makri with loathing. She shrugs, and draws a long knife from her boot.
“Got an axe anywhere?”
One thing you can’t take away from Makri, she’s always prepared to make her death stand. Personally, I need a little more notice.
“Stall him,” I say, and start rummaging in my bag for the spell of bafflement I borrowed from Astrath Triple Moon.
Casting a spell for the first time is no simple matter. It takes time, thought and preparation. However, with Gurd holding off the Guards downstai
rs and Makri stalling Casax by pretending she doesn’t speak the language very well, there’s no time for any of that. I just drag out the scroll, hurry into my bedroom and chant it out over the sleeping form of Quen. Nothing happens, not even the customary cooling of the surrounding air when magic is used, so whether it’s worked or not is anybody’s guess. By the time I get back to my office Prefect Tholius is clumping through the inside door with six Guards in his trail and a very angry Casax is confronting Makri at the steps with some of his brutes.
Casax, the boss of the Brotherhood in Twelve Seas, is new to the job. He was Yubaxas’s number two and took over the leadership when Yubaxas was killed a couple of months ago by the Society of Friends, the Brotherhood’s rivals, who run the north of the city. Casax is keen to assert his authority and he is not pleased to have been kept waiting.
“Who is this squeeze that doesn’t speak the language?” he demands, which makes Makri frown. Being called a squeeze is not something she enjoys.
“It’s his Orcish friend,” says Karlox. Karlox is a Brotherhood enforcer, a massive man, stupid, aggressive and hostile. Casax, no angel himself, stares round the room suspiciously.
Prefect Tholius meanwhile is unsure of how to proceed. As Prefect of the Twelve Seas, he should in theory be in charge here but he knows that in practice he can’t order Casax around. Wishing neither to offend the Brotherhood boss nor to acknowledge his inferiority to Casax, the Prefect looks perplexed.
Casax is far from confused. He’s a dangerous character and looks it: large, muscular, never known to smile. He’s around forty, with long black hair tied back neatly in a braid, a plain brown tunic and a large gold hoop dangling from each ear. Unlike some gang bosses he doesn’t go in for ostentation and apart from the earrings he wears no jewellery. His sword is sheathed in a plain black scabbard. He rose through the ranks of the Brotherhood, which doesn’t happen unless you’re smart and ruthless.